Write What You Want

Posted on April 26, 2013 by E. R. Paskey

I’ve been following Kris Rusch and her husband, Dean Wesley Smith, for about two years now. They’ve both been in the writing industry for several decades, and between the two of them, they’ve got several hundred novels traditionally published and gobs of short stories. They’re also dedicated to making sure other writers are informed about everything from the creative side of writing to the business side of publishing.

Kris puts out a post about writing and business every Thursday. (I love reading these—they’re the highlight of my Thursdays.) Back in February, she wrote a post that really resonated deeply with me. I’ve been meaning to blog about it since then, but life got in the way.

Here’s the relevant section:

Dean and I have moved back into what we call our teaching season again. We teach to pay forward, since we can’t repay our own marvelous instructors for the boost they gave us—at least not in any meaningful way. All we can do is offer the same kind of assistance to a new generation of writers.

What disturbs me every teaching season is the way that writers wait for someone to tell them what box they fit in or what box they should go to. Every year, writers tell at least one of us that we need to give them better instructions. If we give better instructions, the writers insist, then they can write what we want them to write, so that we’ll be happy with them.

These writers entirely miss the point. The point isn’t for us to be happy, but for those writers to find their own voice. Sometimes they’ll fail an assignment and have to do it all over again from scratch. Oh, well. All that means is that they have to invest more time into their craft.

But for a certain type of writer, it means that they have screwed up completely, that they’ll never succeed, that they didn’t receive the help they needed to mold themselves into something someone else wanted.

We can’t help those writers. We try not to teach them, because we teach writers to stand on their own, defend their own vision, and become who they want to be, not who they’re told to be. It’s a tougher road to walk, because it means that there’s no one to blame when things go wrong.

Yeah, I get it. Up above, I said that series of mine failed, sometimes because of someone else’s incompetence. When I’m talking about that, I’m only discussing the business side of the equation—sending me on a book tour, but failing to provide books or to fulfill orders from bookstores. (Lawrence Block blogged on this very topic last week.)  Refusing to do a second printing on a book that was nominated for half a dozen awards because “it wasn’t time” for a second printing yet (whatever that meant) even though there were orders for the book.

When a book sold poorly because of something I could control—the wrong pacing for a certain genre, being ten years ahead of a trend (which is common for me), tackling a difficult subject that no one wants to read about except maybe me, I take responsibility for that. And I should.

But I also know that those failed projects have helped me grow into a stronger writer. If I don’t reach for the impossible, if I don’t stretch and write what frightens me each and every day, I’m failing as a writer.

Failing as an artist, really. Because all long-time successful artists talk about the same thing. If they aren’t frightened at the beginning of a project, if they’re not worried lacking the ability to do a scene or a story justice, then they’re not stretching themselves. And artists who don’t stretch eventually become artists who stop improving.

The most important thing an artist can do when she’s working is to clear out all of the naysaying voices. Sure, someone told you that you can’t write from the point of view on an unlikeable person. Try it anyway. Sure, someone told you that books about college students don’t sell. Write whatever you want to write.

(Emphasis is mine; read the rest of her post here.)

At the time Kris wrote this, I was in the middle of drafting a YA fantasy, finishing up the rough draft of TOSOTH, preparing to start writing the third book in The Guardians, and prepping Portal Woes for publication. And, as I said, her words resonated with me.

I’ve been writing for years and I have yet to get a story down on paper exactly as the vision of it appears in my head. It’s a learning process—and I was so encouraged to find out that I’m not alone in this.

Flash-forward two months, when I read this post again. Portal Woes is published, I’m editing TOSOTH, 2/3 finished writing Lady Ink, and 35,000 words into the third The Guardians book.

You know what?

Everything she said is still true.

Particularly when it comes to the third The Guardians book, because I’ve been looking forward to writing it since I started planning the series. It’s an important book to me, and part of me is scared that I’m not going to be able to pull it off.

Once the initial euphoria of starting a new project wears off, there’s that sense of…I guess the best way to describe it is impending doom mixed with a hefty dose of panic. That’s where the last paragraph in bold really comes in handy. Clear out all the naysaying voices. (Except, in my case, my biggest naysayer is a critical voice inside my head. I’ve found that mentally duct taping her to a chair, gagging her, and dangling her over some crocodiles in a dark corner of my mind gets her to shut up for a while. Prayer helps a lot too. :))

The best thing to do is just write the next sentence. And the one after that, and the sentence after that. Eventually, you’ve got a story on your hands.

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‘Portal Woes’ Trade Paperback Edition

Posted on April 11, 2013 by E. R. Paskey

I’m very happy to announce that the trade paperback edition of Portal Woes is now available from Amazon! It turned out very nicely and I’m thrilled. (Meant to post this a few days ago, but things have been rather busy in this neck of the woods.)

Read the first three chapters for free starting here. 🙂

 

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Portal Woes: Chapter 3

Posted on April 3, 2013 by E. R. Paskey

Here’s the third chapter of Portal Woes, in which we pick up with the Galactic Union Blockade Division. (I didn’t expect it, but Admiral Chesnee has become one of my favorite characters to write.)

Previous Chapter

Chapter 3

FROM the compartment in his quarters he used as an office, Admiral Giles Chesnee considered the world floating beyond his viewport. Lanx, with its ever-changing weather patterns, was a nice break from an endless stretch of stars—even if the view was marred by the iridescent energy shield encapsulating the majority of the world. The view was even sweeter considering his forces had a foothold on that world.

In the grand scheme of the universe, a chunk of unshielded planet was hardly the end-all and be-all of military achievement, but for his Blockade Division taskforce, it was worth its weight in the gold their opponents used as currency.

The occupied portion of Lanx was not visible now. Winds of Change, the Chironex-class battlecruiser that served as his flagship, currently faced Lanx’s night side. A glittering spray of lights beneath the shield marked out Lanx’s population band, which ran along the equator. The rest of Lanx’s rough, mountainous surface was too inhospitable for settlement.

Chesnee smiled to himself. Six weeks ago, all we knew about Lanx came from twenty-year old data.

Of course, six weeks earlier his command was also the joke of the Galactic Union StarFleet.

The Blockade Division had originally been tasked with subjugating the worlds in the Sta’Gloan system after their inhabitants refused to join the newly-formed Galactic Union. To their chagrin, the G.U. ships had found themselves confronted with an advanced planetary shield the likes of which the galaxy had never seen. They had only been able to partially occupy one world, Glo’Stea, and had cut the system off from the rest of the galaxy in retaliation.

Two decades of stalemate had eventually culminated in the Blockade Division becoming a training ground for troops—and a command graveyard.

Until they sent me.

Chesnee’s blue eyes flickered around his office. Five months into his command and he still had no idea why he’d been given the Blockade Division. True, he had succeeded where none of his predecessors had, breaching Lanx’s shield and holding two mining stations hostage, but whether he had been sent here to fail remained a mystery. At this point, however, does it really matter?

According to his aide, Lieutenant Josef Armal, morale throughout his taskforce was the highest it had been in years. The people in his command—including the crew aboard the Change—were beginning to trust him. We aren’t a joke anymore. One way or another, we will conquer the Coalition.

And eventually, when he had the time, he would conquer his office’s appalling décor. One of his predecessors—Chesnee still had no idea which one—had covered the bulkheads with glossy walnut paneling, laid down indigo carpet, and decorated with somber antique tapestries from various worlds in the Galactic Union. Why the man had not taken the tapestries with him when he retired was beyond Chesnee.

A soft chime drew his attention to the comm panel on his desk. Finally. His commanding officer was running late for their conference call today. For a man who takes as much pride in punctuality as Tyler, that does not bode well.

Straightening in his black leather chair, Chesnee tapped his comm panel and the holographic head and shoulders of a portly man with silver hair appeared floating in midair on the other side of his desk. He saluted crisply, snapping the palm of his right hand to his left navy-clad shoulder. “Admiral Tyler.”

“Giles! How goes the Blockade Division?”

Fleet Admiral Joseph Tyler had a voice like a foghorn. Well-prepared for this onslaught of sound, Chesnee discreetly reached for the volume control. “Things are going well, sir. Sapriske 6 is still at our mercy, as is the mining station in the asteroid belt around Xana 5. Neither of them have received fresh supplies or offloaded any ore in weeks. It’s only a matter of time before they decide to open negotiations for surrender.”

“Excellent. And the situation on Lanx?”

“As stable as can be expected. General Deam informs me the populace has settled down easily enough under our control, but a few pockets of guerrillas calling themselves the Lanxian Resistance have cropped up here and there.”

“To be expected.” Tyler waved a hand. “Are they proving to be more than a nuisance?”

“They have their moments.” Chesnee frowned. “A group of them broke into the Ladder in Quinton—that’s the Lanxians’ capital building, you recall—and managed to free the remainder of the politicians and bureaucrats Deam was holding there.”

Tyler’s eyes narrowed in interest. “The same way they did it the last time?”

“No. They used a different method.” Chesnee hid a wince. That situation he had yet to fully explain to Tyler and the rest of High Command.

“Makes you wonder if the Lanxians had as much trouble with their security.”

“That it does.”

“What of the Sapriske 6 supply freighter’s crew? The Sprog, was it?”

“Yes. I’m holding the crew here aboard the Change.”

“Triumvirate still refuses to arrange a prisoner transfer, eh?”

Chesnee allowed himself a rueful smile. “I believe they are afraid I’ll knock out another shield generator if they open the shield for an exchange ship.”

Tyler boomed a laugh. “I imagine they are concerned, given your success rate. Have you gotten anything useful out of the prisoners yet?”

“Nothing of consequence. Although, we have learned that the Sapriske 6 mining station is apparently partially owned and operated by a close relative of one of the Sta’Gloan Representatives.”

“Interesting.” Tyler’s dark eyes glittered. “Perhaps we can use that.”

“Indeed.” Without so much as blinking, Chesnee changed the subject. “Admiral, it’s been a month since the Unity and her escorts arrived. I was wondering if you have any news concerning the remainder of my reinforcements’ ETA.”

Tyler’s round face lost a little of its good cheer and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Giles…”

I might have known. Chesnee’s craggy face settled into hard lines. “I can only assume the delay has something to do with politics.”

“What doesn’t involve politics these days?” Tyler grumbled wearily. “Giles, I would like nothing more than to send you as many ships and men as you need to crush the Coalition once and for all, but since we sent the Unity, the situation has become more…complicated.”

“Let me guess.” Chesnee’s lip curled. “Is it the Senate or the fact that someone leaked the bribery scandal to the media two weeks ago?”

“Blockade Division commanders taking money to let Coalition smugglers conduct business as usual?” Tyler shook his head. “It’s not going over well.”

Chesnee said nothing. He had reported this seamy underside of his new assignment after one of the Coalition’s Representatives on the Triumvirate approached him to strike a similar bargain. And someone on their end couldn’t keep their mouth shut.

“At any rate,” Tyler continued, “the scandal is fueling the growing faction in the Senate clamoring to send in peace envoys now that we have, and I quote, “made our point”.”

To his credit, Chesnee did not snort. “Are they now?”

“Unfortunately. Damn politicians.” Tyler’s face soured. “I’m doing everything in my power to get you those reinforcements, but until this investigation shakes out, High Command cannot devote any more resources to the Blockade Division.”

And who knows how long that could take, Chesnee thought sarcastically, but he inclined his graying blond head. “I understand, sir.”

Tyler eyed him. “Keep winning, Giles, and they’ll have no choice but to give you whatever you need out of sheer embarrassment.”

~~~~

When the Fleet Admiral finally signed off, Chesnee leaned back in his chair, troubled. Not for the first time in the last few weeks, he wondered if it was time to inform Tyler and the rest of High Command he had reason to believe the Coalition might be developing a teleportation device. It’s possible the revelation might speed up the Senate’s decision.

The downside was, of course, that he had no concrete proof.

Just the ramblings of a Coalition scientist who broke under pressure and is now dead. Frowning, Chesnee drummed his fingers on the edge of his desk. He pointedly ignored the tapestry in the corner that seemed to have fixed beady eyes on him. If the bribery scandal has shaken High Command and the Senate this badly, what would unsubstantiated rumors of a transporter do?

He would either start a galaxy-wide panic, or else his superiors would dismiss it out of hand as preposterous.

His face hardened. No, if I intend to overcome the Senate’s whining and moaning about how expensive it is to run a union spanning half the known galaxy, I need to present them with concrete, incontrovertible proof that we need to subdue the Coalition sooner rather than later.

In the meantime, he’d just have to live with the sliver of guilt niggling in the back of his mind.

________________________________________________

The Guardians: Portal Woes is available at:

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Portal Woes: Chapter 2

Posted on March 29, 2013 by E. R. Paskey


Here’s the second chapter of Portal Woes. Enjoy!

Previous Chapter

Chapter 2

DESPITE the fat snowflakes that had begun falling in earnest from the leaden sky, the brisk, two-block walk to Sal’s did Lilia good. By the time she reached the café, she was considerably less agitated. Her spirits lifted further as she stepped through the front door and a host of warm, inviting smells tantalized her nose.

Her stomach gave an appreciate rumble. It was past noon; the bulk of the lunch crowd had thinned and there were a few tables free. Shoving her hands into her coat pockets, Lilia dematerialized her gloves. Her nanites retreated back into her skin and she loosened her coat.

Miguel, the Deleóns’ second oldest son, lounged up against the dessert counter at the back of the dining area. As Lilia made her way over to a booth by the window, he sent her a wave and a grin before yelling over his shoulder, “Hey, Alexis, come see who the wind blew in!”

A few startled patrons looked up from their meals, but the regulars carried on, well-accustomed to Sal’s staff and their ways. Returning Miguel’s smile, Lilia slid into a seat. She glanced at the holographic menu that sprouted up out of the center of the table, but kept an eye on the double doors to the kitchen. Any second now, her best friend was going to slam through…

Yep.

The doors flew open as a short, slender figure barreled her way out into the dining area. Alexis cast a quick glance around the café and beamed when she spotted Lilia. “I’m on break, Miguel!” she sang out.

Heading straight for Lilia’s booth, Alexis slid into the seat beside her and gave her a hug. “Lilia! I didn’t expect to see you today.” The purple streaks in her curly black hair shone with a reddish tint in Sal’s warm lighting and her brown eyes sparkled with delight.

“I didn’t expect to be here either.” Lilia gave her a wry look. “The boys are having a gaming tournament and they keep forgetting to shut the door.”

“Oh, dear.” Alexis moved around the table to sit opposite her. “I take it you haven’t found any clients yet.”

“Nope.”

“Well, that stinks.”

“Tell me about it.” Lilia folded her arms on the table’s shiny surface and rested her chin atop them. “I know they’re going stir-crazy without anything to do, but they’re going to drive me crazy first.”

Alexis fluttered a hand. “It’s only been a month since you got back. Give it time. Building a business doesn’t happen overnight.” She sighed wistfully. “Especially an off-world shipping business.”

Lilia frowned. “It’s just irritating, because it’s not like we don’t have experience. I mean, Kevin and Lon spent two years running supplies on Glo’Stea. That included the occasional interplanetary run.”

“It’ll happen, Lil. Just be patient.”

“I’m trying.” Giving the menu a desultory poke, Lilia scrolled through the list of lunch specials. “What’s the soup of the day?”

“Beef onion stew, actually.”

Her stomach rumbled again. “Sounds good.” She punched in an order.

“So…” Alexis nudged her under the table with her foot. “Have you found a dress yet?”

Lilia stared at her. “Have I—what are you, the fashion police?”

“When it comes to you? Yes.” Alexis snorted. “You’re living with all those boys—I’m sure if your grandfather had his way you’d be wearing a snowsuit everywhere.”

That prompted a laugh. “He’s gotten better about it actually. I think it helps that I’m older.”

“Well?” Alexis nudged her again. “The soiree is next week, isn’t it? You can’t wait until the last minute to buy a dress.”

Sighing, Lilia stared at the tabletop. “I’m still not sure I want to go. I know it’s to celebrate Uncle Martin’s birthday, but…”

“Ah.” Her best friend’s voice took on a knowing tone. “Don’t tell me those empty-headed politicians’ women have you intimidated.”

Alexis’s words hit closer to the mark than Lilia would have liked. She narrowed violet eyes at her friend before dropping her gaze to the table. “Maybe. Grandmother wouldn’t let me go to any of these things before she died, and then we left the planet, so…” She twitched her shoulders in a tiny shrug. “I don’t really know what to expect.”

“Well, you can’t walk into it dreading every moment. That’s just setting yourself up for failure.”

Lilia bit her lip.

“Look, if you’re worried about them giving you grief about anything, that’s easy. Tell them all about the common man’s plight on Glo’Stea.” Alexis grinned mischievously. “I guarantee, if they’re not interested, they’ll find someplace else to be real quick.”

That startled a laugh out of Lilia. “You’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right.” Alexis tilted her head sideways with a little smile. “Here’s Papa with your lunch.”

Sal Deleón appeared through the double doors, bearing a tray. He was Lilia’s height, an older, male version of his daughter with a shiny black handlebar mustache. His apron disguised a slight paunch gained courtesy of liberally sampling his fare. He beamed at Lilia and deftly avoided her attempt to relieve him of his burden.

“You didn’t have to deliver it yourself, Mr. Sal,” she said reprovingly.

He waved her words aside. “It’s good to see you, Lilia. I wanted to say hello.” He shook a finger. “I know he’s not our Representative, but tell Aiden we think he is doing a marvelous job.”

“I will.”

“Good, good.” Sal cocked a half-playful, half-stern eyebrow at his daughter. “Don’t you have a batch of cakes you’re supposed to be watching?”

“They’re doing fine, Papa. I know exactly when they’re coming out.” Alexis flapped her fingers at her father. “I’ll be back there in a minute.”

Grumbling playfully, Sal returned to the kitchen. Lilia smothered a grin and picked up a spoon. Her first bite was heaven. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

“Good.” Alexis looked pleased. “The stew was my idea.” She glanced at Miguel, who was waving his hands at her. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Go ahead.” Lilia gestured with her spoon.

She was halfway through her stew when she felt a familiar tingling in the back of her mind. Kevin had sent her a channel request. Nancom was another Guardian advantage. All of their armor was controlled by a portion of nanites that had breached the blood-brain barrier and integrated into their cerebrums, forming a neural network and a communications hub. Each Guardian had a unique identifying frequency used to open comm channels.

Lilia allowed him access, and Kevin’s voice, slightly aggrieved, flooded her mind. [Hey, why didn’t you tell us you were going to Sal’s?]

[You wouldn’t have heard me.] She took another bite.

[Are you implying that—]

[—you were being loud? Yep. Besides, you already had lunch.]

Kevin was silent. Then, [They do have good desserts.]

Lilia rolled her eyes. [I made cookies, remember? You only ate about a dozen of them. Besides, I’ll be home in a little while.]

[Fine.] He paused, struck by an idea. [Want to hit the exercise center later—]

[—so you can kick my butt again?] Lilia winced; in the last two years she’d fallen behind on keeping up her fencing skills. [Oh, sure. Why not?]

Kevin picked up on her lack of enthusiasm. [Don’t worry, Lil. I’m sure it won’t be that bad.]

He was wrong.

~~~~

It was snowing harder when Lilia and her brothers left Ferndale later that afternoon. They headed to the Chakin Lifestyle Center five streets over, hauling their gear with them. Lilia and Kevin had wanted to shove everything into their ISFs and be done with it, but Lon insisted that they had to look normal. The twins humored him.

Kevin and Lon kept up a steady stream of chatter on the way, but Lilia was only half-listening. Her thoughts kept dwelling on her conversation with Alexis. After returning from her cakes, Alexis had reminded her that the event would likely have media coverage.

“Even I know you’ll want to dress up for this, Lil,” she’d said.

Lilia sighed, her breath emerging in one long, frosty plume. There’s nothing for it. I’ll have to find a new dress. A nice one. It probably won’t be good for Grandfather or Uncle Martin if I show up looking like a street urchin. Grandmother, after all, had stressed the importance of making a good first impression.

She came back to herself as they approached the large, four-story Chakin Lifestyle Center. “We’re in before club practice, right?”

“Yes,” Lon assured her. “They start at six-thirty; we’ll be done by then.”

“Oh, good.”

A wall of warm air met the trio as they stepped inside. Chakin Lifestyle Center boasted a fully-equipped gym, but their primary claim to fame was their long, illustrious history—stretching back at least eight decades—as home to the East Sonela Knights Fencing Club. Across the Coalition, the breakdown remained the same. If you fenced, or if you fenced and had aspirations of making it to the Tri-Global Tournament, you belonged to a club. If you didn’t fence, you supported a club. Lilia had met a few people over the years who didn’t care either way, but generally everyone had their favorite club.

Neither medcenter at which Lilia had worked during the last two years she’d been on Glo’Stea had fencing clubs. Surrounded as they were by death and injury, no one had the leisure time or the inclination. It was only now that she had returned home that she realized again how out of sync her former coworkers were with the rest of the worlds in their system.

The head and torso of a humanoid chrome ‘bot dressed in a red-on-black Knights jersey and hat protruded from the center of a counter just inside the door. “Good evening,” it said in a deep voice.

“Evening,” Lon replied breezily, extending his memberchip for the ‘bot’s palm to scan. Lilia and Kevin followed suit.

“Welcome.” Yellow photoreceptors glanced between the three of them. “Would you be interested in purchasing a Knights jersey or making a donation to support our club team?”

“No, thank you,” they chorused. Moving past the ‘bot toward the hall that led to the locker rooms, the trio parted ways.

As she pulled on her white protective gear, Lilia wished she could just materialize her nano-armor. That armor would be so much better at actually preventing an injury and I wouldn’t have to carry all this stuff around with me. Checking to make sure her dark, hip-length hair was safely secured in a bun atop her head, she picked up her facemask and swords and took the third door on the left out into the arena.

The arena occupied half of the building’s first two floors. Only fencing matches were allowed inside, though a track snaked around the upper level. A handful of white-clad competitors were already inside, dancing around each other with varying degrees of skill.

Lilia met her brothers just outside the men’s locker room entrance. Kevin threw her a wink before tugging on his facemask. “This should be fun.”

“Oh, definitely,” she muttered.

Kevin struck out across the floor for an unoccupied practice square and Lilia matched his pace. As acting referee, Lon followed. The twins took up positions facing each other, drew their blades, and saluted—Kevin with one blade, Lilia with two.

Kevin grinned at his sister over his blade. “One of these days, we’re going to have to try dueling with nanoblades.”

“You mean instead of cutting through walls with them?” Lilia grinned back, shifting her weight on her feet. Though similar in weight and design to their fencing blades, their NCDC-issued nanoblades were sharp enough to slice through almost every substance in the known galaxy. That had come in surprisingly handy during their rescue mission on Lanx.

Lon touched a button on his scoring device. “Begin.”

Kevin started off with a few light, exploratory jabs, testing the bounds of Lilia’s defenses. She parried those blows easily enough, but it took considerably more effort when he moved into a complicated pattern of cuts and thrusts. Two years of very little practice had wreaked havoc on her timing and form, and her recovery was slow.

There was no mistaking Kevin had kept up with his training; he was everywhere. No sooner did Lilia deflect one cut with a downward sweep of her left blade, then he was thrusting at her middle and she had to parry with her right. He kept her on the defensive; every time she thought she might have an opening, he sidled out of the way and turned it back on her.

Points were scored every time a blade touched an opponent’s body. Within fifteen minutes, Kevin had collected enough points for Lon to declare him the winner.

“Congratulations.” Lilia saluted her brother with the flat of one blade, dimly registering that her arm muscles weren’t burning quite as badly as they had four weeks before.

“What does that make me?” Kevin raised his facemask. “Seventeen ahead?”

She suppressed a grimace. “Eighteen.”

“Oh.” Grinning cheerfully, he threw an arm around her shoulders. “You’re getting better, Lil.”

“Give it a little more time,” Lon advised, “and you’ll be back to where you were before.”

Time, Lilia thought. “One can only hope.”

Kevin glanced sideways at her. “Want to go again?”

Lilia tested her muscles. “Sure.”

“I’m going over there.” Lon nodded to a lone figure waiting for a sparring partner to volunteer.

“Go for it,” Kevin said. “We’ll be—”

“—right here,” Lilia finished.

~~~~

Half an hour later, Lilia was ready to call it quits. “I’m done,” she announced, after Kevin beat her for the third time. She’d managed to score a few points of her own along the way, but not enough to matter.

“Okay.” He clapped her on the back. “You’ll get there.”

“Yeah.”

Kevin headed over to Lon, who had finished his match, while Lilia walked over to a long bench up against the wall on the sidelines. She had barely taken a seat when she felt a tingling in the back of her mind.

Her eyes widened a fraction in surprise. A channel request? Here? From beneath her eyelashes, she sent a casual glance around the arena. Somewhere, another Guardian was attempting to connect with her. She did not recognize the frequency.

A pair of mocking green eyes set in a long, pale face met her gaze. Lilia propped her blades up against the bench beside her, but inside she went very still. Oh, boy. She deliberately broke eye contact and looked away. Maybe he won’t realize—

Too late. The man—average height and built like a poster child for a Glo’Stean swimming team, with black hair pulled back in a low ponytail—moved closer. Lilia darted a glance in her brothers’ direction, but they were focused on each other. Part of her thought that was just as well. Wouldn’t want them to overreact and get us all kicked out.

“Well, well, well. I’d heard the entire Strong family was involved with the NCDC.” Those mocking eyes swept her from head to foot. “You’d think they’d have more sense than to bring their baby sister into it.”

Surprised, Lilia arched an eyebrow at the man. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a dangerous job.” The man rested a hand on the hilt at his right side. “Wouldn’t want something to happen to that pretty face.”

“I think,” Lilia said coolly, “you’ve mistaken me for someone—”

“Oh, no, my dear. I haven’t.” He smirked. “You felt that channel request.”

Irritation licked at the corners of her mind, but Lilia tamped it down. “Who are you?”

“Alan Birch.” He made a mocking half-bow.

At first, the name didn’t register. Then Lilia tilted her chin. “I’ve heard of you.” Michael and Derek had mentioned him a few times over the past few weeks. Alan Birch managed a division of the Internal Affairs Tower’s security at the Four Towers. She had the impression he and her oldest brothers did not care much for each other.

“I’m sure you have.” Birch gave her a thin, humorless smile that was all sharp edges.

“Can I help you with something?”

“Oh, just thought I’d introduce myself.” Birch watched her for a second, his face still mocking. “You move like someone out of practice.”

Lilia felt like she was being dissected for scientific study. “I am out of practice.”

Faint surprise flickered over his features; he obviously hadn’t expected her to admit it.

“Hey, Lilia!” They both turned to look at Lon as he bore down on them, his usually expansive features tight. “Is there a problem here?” He looked at her, but kept his body angled toward Birch, ready to move.

Lilia shrugged. “No problem. He,” she gestured to Birch, “just introduced himself.”

“Did he, now?” Lon directed a hard look at the older man.

“Strong.” Curling his lip, Birch flicked his gaze from Lon to Kevin, who had come up on his brother’s heels. “Strong.”

“Leave my sister alone, Birch,” Lon growled.

Lilia glanced between them, at a loss to explain this undercurrent of animosity when they’d only been back on Sta’Gloa for a month. As soon as Birch opened his mouth, however, she had her answer.

“Had to see it for myself,” he said diffidently. “I’m still amazed the nanites took, what with all the Tarynian blood you have.”

All three of them stiffened. Lon’s face hardened a little more. “I’m amazed you speak of the NCDC so casually.”

Birch’s sudden smile did nothing to soften the green ice in his eyes. “Well, when you refuse to connect…”

“Yeah, like I want you making snide comments in my head.”

Catching Kevin’s eye, Lilia quirked an eyebrow in a silent question. He shook his head.

“The Glo’Stean NCDC may have seen fit to include you in their ranks, but don’t think for a moment it means anyone here on Sta’Gloa trusts you,” Birch sneered. “We’ll be keeping a very close eye on you.”

“Oh, yeah?” Lon scoffed. “What could you possibly think gives you the authority to spy on anybody?”

Birch tapped his chest with a white-gloved finger. “I’m a provisional officer of the NCDC branch here in Sonela.”

“Right. Like I believe that.”

Lilia and Kevin exchanged concerned glances.

Birch shrugged. “Believe it or don’t believe it, but know that I will be watching you.”

“Funny,” Kevin said abruptly, canting his head toward Lilia. “I don’t recall Riley Callahan mentioning anything about our background being a problem, do you, Lil?”

She shook her head. “No. Nor did he say anything about us—”

“—being under surveillance,” Kevin finished. “In fact, I think we ought to take that up with him.”

Something flashed through Birch’s eyes, too fast to categorize. “Doesn’t matter who you know. Just remember, we’ll be keeping an eye on you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have club practice.” With another mocking smile, he sauntered away.

Lon watched him go, his mouth set in a grim line.

“Okay.” Lilia slid each of her swords back into its sheath. “What was that all about?”

Lon brushed her off. “He’s a button pusher, that’s all.” He nodded to the locker rooms. “I’m done for tonight. Grandfather and the others are probably back by now. Let’s head home.”

The twins exchanged glances behind his back; Lilia opened a Nancom channel to Kevin. [Let me guess. Lon and Birch have had words in the last couple of weeks.]

[Yeah.] Kevin made a face. [I think he’s trying to see how far he can push us. Mike says he does the same thing to him and Derek. The surveillance thing is new, though.]

[Great.]

[Tell me about it.]

~~~~

A warm, spicy smell met their noses as the snow-covered trio let themselves into the penthouse. Peeling off her coat, Lilia swept into the kitchen, where she found Zoë stirring the pot of lentil soup she’d prepared before she left. “Smells good, Zoë.”

“Thank you.” The ‘bot did not look up from her task. “Dinner should be ready in twenty-three point two minutes.”

Lilia bit back a laugh. “Thanks.”

Heading back out of the kitchen into the foyer, she crossed the hardwood floor into the living room. Her grandfather occupied his recliner by the wall of windows; Michael and Derek were nowhere in sight. “Hey, Grandfather. Welcome home.”

“Ah, Lilia.” Aiden Monroe greeted his only granddaughter with a smile that brightened his green eyes. He looked like an older version of her brother Derek, except for the wrinkles and the short white beard. “Zoë tells me you were at Chakin’s. How goes the swordplay?”

Lilia waved a hand. “I’m getting back to where I was. It’s just taking longer than I expected.” She sank down onto one long navy blue couch, folding a leg beneath her. “How was the Triumvirate today?”

Aiden shrugged. “I cannot report much of a difference. We have been arguing about the G.U. for the past month and I do not see that changing any time soon.”

“Anything more from Admiral Chesnee?”

“Thankfully, no.”

“That’s good.”

“It is indeed.”

Lilia played with the hem of her denim slacks. “Has anybody had any bright ideas about how we can help Sapriske 6 and Xana 5?”

Behind his white goatee, the lines in Aiden’s face deepened. “I am afraid not. All attempts thus far have met with disaster.”

“Gravity is a huge issue for Sapriske 6.” They both looked over at the door as Lon breezed in and took a seat on the other couch. He shrugged. “Nobody can get a decent approach vector without being in range of that battlecruiser. And Xana 5’s asteroid field is too problematic for most pilots. So, nobody in, nobody out.”

A chill skittered down Lilia’s spine. They had family on Sapriske 6—second cousins on Aiden’s side. Not that they ever saw each other. “Communication’s down too, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah.” Shadows passed through Lon’s eyes. “The Icefinger and the Requiem are sucking every byte of data in and keeping them from escaping.”

“What are we going to do?” It wasn’t the first time Lilia had asked the question; she doubted it would be the last. The words rose unbidden, the product of four weeks’ worth of pondering this latest wrinkle in Coalition life.

Her grandfather shook his head. “Only God knows.”

~~~~

The atmosphere during dinner was subdued. The weather and the pressing weight of anxiety threatening to crush everyone all served to stifle cheerfulness. Afterward, Lon assisted Zoë with dishes while everyone else gathered in the living room with their datapads and tea, hot chocolate, or decaf coffee.

Lilia suppressed a sigh. Uncle Martin’s birthday is in four days. If I don’t get a dress soon, I’m going to be out of luck.

She spent the evening perusing evening gowns. Part of her felt guilty for having waited so long, but another part reasoned that since Sonela saw its fair share of socio-political events, competition would keep prices in line. She sent thumbnails of her favorite dresses to Alexis, who texted responses in between tasks at the café. They settled on a one-shouldered design in rosy pink. Lilia had wanted to go with a bolder jewel tone, but Alexis argued the pink would make her look young and fresh—just the thing for a young woman making her debut into society.

You sound like something from a hundred years ago. I doubt anyone cares, she texted Alexis.

Her comlink immediately vibrated with a response. You never know.

Next Chapter

________________________________________________

The Guardians: Portal Woes is available at:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

Apple’s ibookstore.

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Portal Woes: Chapter 1

Posted on March 25, 2013 by E. R. Paskey

Portal Woes was a lot of fun to write. The fact that it’s a sequel meant it had its own unique little challenges–including a timeline that had me pulling out my hair on a few occasions–but I’m having a blast expanding The Guardians universe.

Here’s the first chapter. Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter 1

AN acrid tang of laser bolt fire lingered in the air circulating through Sonela’s Westside Range as twenty-one year-old Lilia Strong lowered her pistol. The smell did not bother her as much as it had just a few weeks earlier; she was getting better at blocking unpleasant memories. She scanned the area in front of her for any more potential targets before performing a tactical reload, efficiently switching out her spent energy magazine for a fresh one.

Reaching around to the back of her waist, she pushed the magazine through an invisible membrane about ten centimeters from her skin, with the squishy consistency of gelatin.

The magazine disappeared, safely stowed in her Interdimensional Storage Field—otherwise known as an ISF. She then slid her pistol into that same gelatinous field outside her right hip, returning it to the holster positioned there, and tapped a panel on the frame separating her from the shooter in the next booth.

A holodisplay of her two targets materialized in the air before her. Lilia counted the laser bolt holes in each, noting which shots had been dead-on and which ones hadn’t. Not bad, she thought with a small nod. As far as stopping bad guys went, she’d done all right.

Lilia knew she could do better.

After all, she had a responsibility now, not only to herself, but also to her fellow Sta’Gloan citizens.

Six weeks earlier, she and her twin brother had joined the Nanotech Coalition Defense Corp to become Guardians: a group of civilians throughout the Coalition’s worlds equipped with cutting-edge nanotechnology to be defenders and protectors in emergency situations where outside police or military help was impossible.

They had undergone an infusion process to transfer billions of nanites into their bodies, enabling them to materialize armor and communicate with other Guardians. Her ISF was a byproduct of that infusion, an electromagnetic field surrounding her body that held an amount equal to her body weight in weapons and gear. No one else could see it or access it; no mechanical scanner registered its existence.

“What did you do there?” A large hand reached past her to stab a finger at two holes just grazing her first target’s right hip. A retired Sonela police officer, Roy Atherson was both the commanding range officer and one of the instructors Lilia and her four older brothers had known since their grandfather’s head of security, Will Graves, introduced them years before. As long as they were safe, he did not mind the unorthodox gear tactics Lilia and her brothers—who were all Guardians—occasionally used.

“Pushed it.” Lilia shook her head. She heard Atherson loud and clear; her protective ear gear filtered out harmful sound levels.

Atherson gave her a knowing look. Gray-haired with a craggy face, he was her height, though his broad shoulders dwarfed hers in size. “Don’t be in such a hurry to get a look at where your shots went. Otherwise, looking good, kid.” He motioned to the holodisplay. “Your shots are still better with a carbine, but that’s to be expected.”

Lilia nodded gravely. If she had to pick a weapon to take into a fight—and she had, just a few short weeks ago—she’d take the laser carbine over her pistol any day. Better sights, better control, and more firepower. “I’m working on it.”

“I can see that.” Atherson’s brown eyes twinkled. “Won’t be long at all until you’re outshooting those brothers of yours.”

“That’s the plan.” Lilia gave the ranger master a small, but genuine smile and tipped her head toward the booth. “I’m done for today.” She cleared her targets’ shot history and stepped out into the open corridor running the length of the wall.

Atherson studied her for a few seconds. He had said nothing in the four weeks since she, her twin, Kevin, and their older brother Lon returned to Sta’Gloa, but she knew he had heard about her being shot on Coral Island nearly a year ago. Even if the news of that massacre hadn’t made much of a splash outside of Glo’Stea, he was Graves’s friend, and her two oldest brothers still regularly frequented Westside Range.

“Shooting targets,” he said quietly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “even as lifelike as these are, isn’t the same as shooting human beings.”

Lilia swallowed. “No, it’s not.” Her violet eyes grew distant for a second before she forced her mind away from those thoughts and gave him a wry smile. “For one thing, targets don’t shoot back.”

Atherson chuckled. “That they don’t.” His expression sobered quickly. “Be careful out there, kid. Things are getting uglier by the day.”

Sonela was expecting another eighteen centimeters of snow before nightfall, but Lilia knew he didn’t mean the weather. She nodded. “I will.”

As she turned to leave, Atherson called out, “Tell your brothers I expect to see them back in here to catch up!”

Raising a hand in acknowledgment, Lilia strolled out of Westside Range and into the gloomy early morning. Heavy clouds, slate-gray with the threat of yet more snow, hung over Sta’Gloa’s capital city. Pulling a soft, black hat down over her ears, she flipped her long braid of dark brown hair over her shoulder and started down the heated sidewalk toward the nearest hoverbus stop.

She blew out a frosty breath. Only a few more weeks until spring. You can live through this, no matter how cold it is.

A sudden smile lit her face. Of course, I don’t have to stay cold. Her eyes narrowed slightly in concentration and charcoal gray droplets oozed out of her pores, coalescing over her skin. They instantly hardened into a hidden, protective layer of armor, rendering her immune to the sharp, cutting wind. Lilia jammed her hands into her pockets and materialized dark gray gloves.

Her smile widened. Gotta love stealth mode.

Her nano-armor did little, however, to protect her lungs from the bite of the freezing air she felt with every breath as she wove her way through a steady stream of pedestrians to the hoverbus stop. I almost miss Kyman’s sweltering heat, she thought wistfully. We thought we might boil alive, but at least we weren’t cold.

Kyman was a medcenter on the fringes of free Glo’Stea, the third world in the Sta’Gloan system. Lilia had transferred there after surviving Coral Island, while her brothers Kevin and Lon continued flying supplies to various Glo’Stean islands. Nearly a quarter of Glo’Stea was controlled by Galactic Union troops; clashes between them and Glo’Stean Resistance forces were both frequent and bloody.

Lilia would be in Kyman still, except that everything changed shortly after she and Kevin joined the NCDC.

Things weren’t supposed to have changed. That wasn’t the plan. Unfortunately, political maneuvers intended to silence their grandfather’s opposition to an alliance with the Galactic Union resulted in the newly-minted Guardians being thrown into a rescue mission on Lanx, the fourth world in their system. Lanx’s planetary shield had just been breached by the G.U.’s newest blockade commander, endangering a trio of scientists and their revolutionary machine—a wormhole-based transporter. Lilia, Kevin, and their team of fellow Guardians had succeeded in bringing the machine and two of the scientists back to Sta’Gloa, but they’d lost a teammate in the process.

Not to mention all of us nearly died at one point or another, Lilia thought, frowning. The hoverbus arrived and she climbed aboard, swiping a transit card into a panel by the door before dropping into a seat near the front. G.U. soldiers, known throughout the Coalition as Tarynians due to the origin of the Galactic Union, had shot at their entire team on several occasions. She herself had been shot twice over the course of that mission, though her nano-armor saved her life, and Kevin had almost been killed in the skimmer crash that claimed the life of their teammate.

Lilia swallowed. Memories of those catastrophic three days had mostly faded into a muted jumble in her mind, like foggy remnants of a frightening dream. A few sections, however, remained stark and vivid. Those were the memories that sent her stumbling to the kitchen for a cup of hot chocolate at three in the morning.

Sometimes Kevin joined her.

The hoverbus dropped her two blocks from home. Lilia marched down the sidewalk, trying to channel her thoughts in a different direction. Target practice always lifted her spirits, reminding her she was far from helpless, but some days took more of an effort than others.

She cast a longing look at the café occupying the ground floor of a four-story older building on the corner at the end of the block. Cheerful, welcoming light spilled from every window. Her best friend’s family owned Sal’s; she considered them her surrogate family.

No time to stop there now. The morning rush was in full swing. With a sigh, Lilia trudged onward, past the café and across the street. A few moments later, she stopped in front of Ferndale Apartments. Her grandfather owned this seven-story apartment building; they lived in one of the two penthouse apartments. The other housed his rotating security staff.

Being a Representative on the Triumvirate that governed the entire Sta’Gloan system had its drawbacks. Especially these days, with everyone in an uproar over the terrible turn things had taken. In addition to partially occupying Lanx, the Tarynians were holding a mining world and a mining station in an asteroid belt hostage as well.

Stepping into the lobby, Lilia nodded to the concierge on duty at the front desk and headed straight for the accelevator bank. She entered the express code that would whisk her up to the penthouse level and waited. Seconds later, she emerged into a wide beige hall and crossed a red-brown floor to the door on the right. She disarmed security—there was no guarantee Kevin or Lon were actually awake yet—and let herself into the penthouse’s foyer, closing the front door behind her.

After depositing her coat and hat in the foyer closet, she turned left into the kitchen and headed straight for the coffee machine. She poured herself a cup, stirred in a spoonful of sugar and some cream, and then carried her coffee through the kitchen to the dining room and around the corner into the living room. The light filtering through the gauzy silver and blue curtains framing the full-length windows along one wall was brighter than it had been.

Silence lay over the penthouse. Her grandfather and two oldest brothers had already left for the Four Towers, Sta’Gloa’s government seat in the heart of Sonela’s business district, and Lon and Kevin were apparently still asleep. Settling down in a corner of one deep blue couch, Lilia set her coffee cup on the end table at her elbow and reached into her ISF above the center of her left forearm for her reader. Powering on the slim device, she worked through her selection of Scripture for the day.

By the time Kevin and Lon rolled out of bed an hour later, Lilia had finished her daily devotional and was attempting to determine her next move.

Not for the first time since they returned to Sta’Gloa, she felt adrift and disconnected, like she didn’t quite fit into her own skin. Working in Kyman had given her purpose and a sense of belonging, but now? She stared at the windows opposite her. What am I supposed to do with myself now?

After a moment, she snapped her fingers and rose to her feet. Cookies. She nodded firmly. Cookies will help.

Her brothers wouldn’t mind. They love cookies.

Rolling her sleeves up to her elbows, Lilia made her way into the kitchen and seized an apron from a drawer. She put on music—something with a thrumming baseline and a fast, steady beat—and began pulling out ingredients to make chocolate pecan cookies. Focusing on baking would help her push worrisome thoughts of the future to the back of her mind.

I know I’m supposed to be back on Sta’Gloa; I’ll have just to trust that I’ll figure out why I’m back.

Lon wandered into the kitchen a little while later, just as Lilia was transferring the first batch of cookies from a baking sheet to a cooling rack. He shared the same lean build and angular features as the twins, but where they were dark-haired and violet-eyed, he had inherited sandy blond hair and green eyes. He was also slightly shorter than both Kevin and Michael, their oldest brother—which he did his best to ignore. Sniffing appreciatively, he leaned up against the counter by the doorway. “What’s for dinner?”

“Lentil soup.”

“Eh.” Lon wrinkled his freckled nose.

Seeing this, Lilia raised an eyebrow. “Do you have a better idea?” Her brother’s green eyes lit with an impish sparkle and she hastily pointed a spatula at him. “If you say ‘food’, I will hurt you.”

“Would I do that?” Lon clapped a hand over his heart, grinning.

“In a heartbeat.”

“Oh, well, in that case…” Lon thought for a moment, and then shrugged. “Don’t know. Food’s good.”

He was out the door before Lilia could lob something at his head—snagging a hot cookie as he disappeared.

~~~~

Four hours later, Lilia was ready to climb the penthouse walls. She had exhausted every possible avenue of distraction; cookies were finished, the kitchen was clean, laundry done, and a pot of soup ready to be cooked for dinner. Now she was trying to catch up on the news and her vmail correspondence, but that horrible, itchy feeling of inactivity and uselessness continued to press down on her.

She stiffened as a fresh burst of noise carried down the hall from the game room.

“I don’t think you understand the gravity of your situation, Kev.”

“Oh, I think I do.”

“You really don’t.”

“Yes, I do. Take that!”

From her seat in the living room, sitting cross-legged in an armchair, Lilia rolled her eyes. They could at least have the decency to shut the door. She pressed fingers to her temples, staving off a headache. She didn’t know what game they were playing—and frankly at the moment she didn’t care—but they’d been at it for over two hours. Is it too much to ask for a little peace and quiet?

Shutting her datapad off, she unfolded herself from the chair. I can’t stay here anymore. Padding through the living room out into the foyer, she poked her head into the kitchen. “Zoë, I’m going to Sal’s.”

Zoë, their humanoid housekeeping ‘bot, turned her head around without rotating the rest of her navy uniform-clad body. “Be careful, Lilia. The forecast is calling for more snow.” Her metallic silver face showed little expression beneath dark curls and a navy cap, but her photoreceptors glittered.

“I know. I won’t be long.” The ‘bot’s concern was nothing new; Lilia and her brothers were positive their grandmother had imprinted aspects of her own personality on Zoë and her sister ‘bot Chloe when she and their grandfather had them commissioned.

Sparing a glance for herself in a round mirror hanging in the foyer, Lilia grabbed her coat and hat from the closet, disarmed security on the front door, and let herself out into the hall. Marching over to the other penthouse apartment, she pressed the intercom panel by the door. “JP, I’m going down to Sal’s.”

“Fine and dandy. Stay out of trouble.”

She rolled her eyes. “Aren’t you confusing me with my brothers?”

JP Cobb just chuckled through the intercom.

Shaking her head, Lilia headed for the accelevator.

Next Chapter

________________________________________________

The Guardians: Portal Woes is available at:

Amazon

Barnes & Noble

Kobo

Apple’s ibookstore.

Posted in Free Fiction, Publishing, Writing | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

‘Portal Woes’ Release!

Posted on March 22, 2013 by E. R. Paskey

I am very pleased and excited to announce that Portal Woes, the second book in The Guardians series has been published! 😀

The ebook is available now, and the trade paperback will be available next week. (I’m holding a proof copy in my hand right now and it’s lovely!)

You can find it at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Apple’s ibookstore, and elsewhere.

What would you do if someone offered you the chance to travel through a wormhole?

After surviving the harrowing rescue mission that kicked off their entry into the Nanotech Coalition Defense Corp’s Guardian program, twins Lilia and Kevin Strong are attempting to settle back down into life on their homeworld. Their goal? Build an interplanetary shipping business with their brother Lon.

It isn’t easy—the worlds in their system are still reeling from Galactic Union blockade commander Admiral Chesnee’s bold attacks. They’ve barely gotten their fledgling business off the ground when their NCDC handler comes calling.

The scientists the twins rescued want them to test the invention they saved: a wormhole-based transporter with the potential to free the Coalition from the Galactic Union’s oppressive clutches.

Accepting this offer will launch Lilia and Kevin into utter chaos—and leave their lives forever changed.

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